


And Here I'll Wait For You

by starchase



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: A little bit violent, Hate Sex, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, it's all consensual though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 14:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11557560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starchase/pseuds/starchase
Summary: I wrote this for an anon over on the kink meme who requested for world of ruin promdyn and:Mutually consensual, violent, bloody hatesex between Ardyn and Prompto, please. I don't care who tops, really I have no preference.So this is literally that. It's basically porn with very little plot. Takes place in this wonderful alternate kink reality, where plot is not required in order to reach the sexy stuff. Also everything here is entirely consensual. Prompto hates it, and loves it. This is for you, anon!





	And Here I'll Wait For You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for an anon over on the kink meme who requested for world of ruin promdyn and: _Mutually consensual, violent, bloody hatesex between Ardyn and Prompto, please. I don't care who tops, really I have no preference._
> 
> So this is literally that. It's basically porn with very little plot. Takes place in this wonderful alternate kink reality, where plot is not required in order to reach the sexy stuff. Also everything here is entirely consensual. Prompto hates it, and loves it. This is for you, anon!

“I hate you,” Prompto says, thrusting up hard into Ardyn.  
  
“Oh,” Ardyn starts, that self-satisfied smile curling across his face, “but you love _this._ ” He squeezes his thighs tighter around Prompto's body, pulls Prompto deeper inside of him. A red hot spike of anger sizzles beneath Prompto's skin, goes to join the rest of the hate boiling within his gut, mingling uncomfortably with the lust and the desire, the orgasm he's skirting right now.  
  
He wants to deny it. He can't deny it. Instead, he digs his fingers into the soft skin of Ardyn's ass, nails pressing hard enough to leave marks, possibly draw some blood. He feels Ardyn jerk against him, hears him grunt in pleasure. What Prompto has learnt, during these encounters they've had so far, is that Ardyn likes things a little rough. It's something in common they have, and it only ever serves to make Prompto hate Ardyn more. To want to fuck him more, too, as if the harder and deeper he buries himself inside Ardyn's body, the further away he can drive everything else.  
  
Prompto feels fingers in his hair, tugging painfully. Feels nails skate down the back of his thigh; he let's out a sharp hiss of pain.  
  
He loses some sense of himself then, drawn to the edge, body rocking so hard, so fast, into Ardyn's, it's almost dizzying. A few more rough fucks into Ardyn's body, and then Prompto's coming with a strangled cry. He should feel some sense of relief, but it's only shame. Hatred. For Ardyn, and for himself.  
  
“You're the worst,” Prompto murmurs, pulling out and away. He can't look at Ardyn, at that face that ruined everything. The face that Prompto shouldn't find nearly as attractive as he actually does.  
  
“My dear boy,” Ardyn says, sounds entirely unruffled by the entire thing, even though he's half naked and has evidence of his own desires splattered across his stomach. “Haven't you learnt yet, that I'm the best _for you_?”  
  
–  
  
Those words stick in Prompto's mind, haunt the darkness of his dreams, and the eternal night time of his waking. The best for him. Whoever Prompto might have imagined to be the best for him, it never would have been _Ardyn._ Yet, even as Prompto thinks about him, feels the familiar rush of hatred burn for him, there's that telling itch beneath his skin. Laced within his hatred, this sexual tension, this desire, to fuck Ardyn, to hurt him, to try and cause him even a miniscule amount of the pain Ardyn has brought to Prompto and his friends, the entire world. It never works, though, it never helps. And then Prompto feels like he needs to let Ardyn hurt _him_ , punish him, for feeling this way. An unending circle. He can't escape. He thinks, sometimes, in the darkest corner of his mind, that maybe he might not want to, either.  
  
He takes himself in hand, thinks of Ardyn, tries to purge himself of these thoughts. All he does is make a mess all over himself, and feel worse.  
  
–  
  
“Ah, so you've decided to grace me with your presence, finally?” Ardyn's voice curls around Prompto, darkly inducing him to move forward.  
  
Prompto's tried to stay away, for the longest time so far. Yet he finds himself drawn back again to Ardyn eventually. He stands in the lobby of the Citadel, a broken, ruined version that only fills Prompto with sadness now, where it used to be tall and imposing and make him feel very small.  
  
Ardyn's flashing that smile at Prompto again.  
  
“Perhaps, though, I don't wish to play this game any longer? Perhaps you've left me, languishing alone for too long. What do you think, sweet Prompto?”  
  
Ardyn likes to play these games, but he never takes much convincing. Soon, Prompto is on his knees, as Ardyn takes to a throne that isn't his, and Prompto takes Ardyn's cock into his mouth.  
  
He's good at this, he always has been, and he knows how much Ardyn gets off from forcefully fucking Prompto's mouth. Ardyn releases a deep, satisfied sigh, shudders beneath the press of Prompto's tongue, as he slides easily between Prompto's lips. Fingers toy loosely, idly, with Prompto's hair. Ardyn's other hand is on Prompto's shoulder, grip firm but not hard.  
  
Then Prompto gets to work, puts his tongue and his lips and his throat to good use. Soon, he's having to relax his gag reflex, and simply sits there and sucks, as Ardyn fucks himself into Prompto's face. It's rough, his jaw hurts, his knees ache, and yet there's that thrill, trickling down the back of Prompto's spine, as he feels the hot, heavy weight of Ardyn against his tongue. As he tastes how much Ardyn is clearly enjoying this.  
  
The fingers tighten painfully around his hair, then. Ardyn's grip is strong around his shoulder, keeping Prompto in place. There'll be finger-shaped bruises there, later. A reminder.  
  
Ardyn grunts then – for a man who loves to hear himself talk, he's always quiet during their encounters – and Prompto feels the cock in his mouth tense and throb, all the warning he gets, before his mouth is filled.  
  
“Good boy,” Ardyn murmurs, almost playfully, fingers lighter now as they brush through Prompto's hair.  
  
“Fuck you,” Prompto answers, wiping the back of his mouth. He climbs up from the floor, legs aching.  
  
“If that's what you want.”  
  
It is. Embarrassingly, it almost always is.  
  
And so Prompto finds himself now seated on the throne – _'I should be arrested for this,'_ he thinks to himself – Ardyn in his lap. He brings his body down against Prompto's in rough, hard, motions, pulls gasps and grunts of pain, a moan of desire, from the both of them. It hurts. It aches. It feels amazing.  
  
Prompto paints Ardyn's body, the throne, with his hatred and his need.

–  
  
“All the beds in this place, and you choose _here_? Dude, what the hell?” Prompto grouses out, annoyed, as Ardyn pushes him up against a smooth, sleek marble wall in the lobby of the Citadel.  
  
“Who's bed would you prefer to do this in?” Ardyn's voice is close to his ear, makes Prompto shiver. “Our dearly departed King's, perhaps?” He buries his fingers in Prompto's body, and Prompto cries out at the sudden intrusion. “Or his brat of a child's?” His fingers work inside Prompto. It burns. “Your precious prince's bed, is that where you wish to do this?” Cheeks flushing, Prompto pushes into that rough touch. “By all means, take me to his room, and I'll _take_ you there.”  
  
“...Fine.” He can't believe Ardyn would even suggest it. He can believe it. It makes Prompto hate him more. Burn for him more. Ache for him all the harder.  
  
The fingers that aren't thrusting roughly within him, reach around the front of Prompto's body, toy with his aching erection. It's painfully clear, every time, how much Prompto actually wants this.  
  
Ardyn chuckles, lowly, against Prompto's ear. He feels teeth pressing into the skin of his lobe. It pulls a quiet gasp from him.  
  
“Then right here will just have to suffice, won't it, my dear.”  
  
Ardyn fucks Prompto hard, pushes his body almost painfully into the wall with every rough thrust of his hips. Prompto's nails scrabble against the smooth marble, finding no purchase. It's almost violent, by the time Ardyn really gets going, their bodies slapping and smacking together every time their bodies meet. It's harsh, and it's fast, and Prompto struggles to breathe, it hurts and yet it feels so fucking good. He's leaking, heavy and hot, cock trapped between his body and the wall.  
  
He feels a hand against his shoulder, feels fingers curling loosely around his neck. He gasps, just before those fingers tighten their grip. His head swims. His body is taut, thrumming. Then Ardyn pulls his hand back, and Prompto sucks in quick breath of air. Nails rake down his back instead, drawing blood. Ardyn slams into Prompto's body again and again, pushes deeper, and Prompto comes with a groan, seeing stars, still struggling for breath, making a mess of himself and the wall.  
  
When it's Ardyn's turn, he makes a mess of Prompto. When he glances down at his thighs, he sees blood mixed in with the mess.  
  
Ardyn's enough of a bastard to offer Prompto a potion, from the Citadel's cache of supplies, for the injury.  
  
Prompto tells him to go fuck himself, but takes it anyway. He burns and he aches and it hurts to move. But he doesn't want a daemon to get hold of him when he leaves, and make short work of him because he was stubborn and stupid and off his game. That's what he tells himself, anyway.  
  
–  
  
He doesn't know what he's doing, not really, why he can't stop himself, why he can't help this ridiculous attraction. He tries not to think about it too hard, too deeply, because Prompto thinks, examining it closely will unsettle him, make him see even more parts to himself to hate. He's not got much left in this world of darkness, so he ignores it, keeps what of himself that he can. And he continues to see Ardyn sometimes, to have these encounters.  
  
Fingers stroke, almost softly, the length of Prompto's chest, and back up again. Prompto almost sighs into the light touch, has to stop himself from just about melting back against Ardyn's body behind him. It's not meant to be soft, he's not meant to _melt_. He hears Ardyn laugh, a soft breath of air against the back of Prompto's neck, as if Ardyn knows.  
  
Those fingers brush over a nipple, making Prompto arch into the touch. Water sprays across both their bodies, the sound of the shower almost washing away the quiet noises Prompto makes, as Ardyn teases at sensitive skin. His other hand is on Prompto's hip, wonders lightly across his wet skin.  
  
Then, Ardyn's pinching Prompto's nipple, squeezes briefly but painfully, and Prompto cries out. Flinches back against Ardyn's chest.  
  
Ardyn laughs, louder.  
  
“You are a bounty of such endless surprises, my dear,” he says, licks a wet path from Prompto's collarbone to just behind his ear, making Prompto shudder.  
  
“You talk too fucking much,” Prompto grinds out, annoyed because half the time he doesn't know what Ardyn even _means_ , and he's sure that's why Ardyn says half the shit he says in the first place. It's infuriating. He's infuriating.  
  
But fuck, if those hands don't feel good, as they work over Prompto's wet and naked body, pulling, pinching, teasing and rubbing at him. It's as if Ardyn is playing Prompto's body, pulling from him what he wants, an expert at it now. The thought repulses Prompto. The thought has him aching, hot and hard, between his thighs. He feels Ardyn's own erection pressing against him, feels a shiver thrumming through his veins, fill him with a growing heat. A heat that gnaws at Prompto, follows along with every touch against his body.  
  
“Why, you've never complained before.” Ardyn's voice is light and teasing. His hand slides from Prompto's hip, to the swell of his ass. “And here I thought you liked what I have to say.”

“I always complain,” Prompto counters. There's not much he can do from this angle, his back to Ardyn, Ardyn's body pressed up so close against him.  
  
“You're right. You _do_ always complain. A noisy little shit, aren't you, dear?” There's an edge to Ardyn's voice now, and his hand rubs in small, slow circles against Prompto's ass. There's a split second, right before it happens, where Prompto suddenly realises.  
  
Ardyn's hand leaves, only for his palm to come forward again, to connect with a resounding _smack_ against Prompto's skin. It aches and tingles already, from the force of the hit. Ardyn does it again, and again, and it hurts and it burns, but Prompto's almost writhing back against Ardyn's body now.  
  
“Serves you right, you know.” Then both of Ardyn's hands are on Prompto's hips, as he pulls their bodies tightly together, thrusts himself into Prompto. It's what Prompto's body was aching for, and he shudders against Ardyn, sighs, as his body leans back into this.  
  
With hands on Prompto's hips, Ardyn fucks into him hard. All Prompto can grab onto like this are the backs of Ardyn's thighs, and he takes tight hold, keeps them close, lets his fingers dig in. The water falls warmly around them. Their bodies slide together.  
  
Ardyn fucks him and fills him with short, violent, thrusts of his body. It's not enough to get Prompto off, and after Ardyn's finished, Prompto pushes Ardyn onto his knees, pushes his aching cock into Ardyn's mouth, tries to wipe away that eternal smug look of his.  
  
He takes Prompto so well, he always has, whenever Prompto makes him do this, and the heat of his mouth feels so good that Prompto's throbbing and hot and itching for his release. He fucks himself to completion in Ardyn's mouth.  
  
That same look, the one that always sets Prompto's hatred back to a steady blaze, is on his face when Prompto pulls out.  
  
“So rough today,” he says, one hand rubbing idly against his jaw. The cheek of it, Prompto thinks, because if anyone was rough today, it was Ardyn.  
  
Ardyn climbs to his feet, reaches for Prompto, fondles and teases him roughly, seems to get enjoyment from handling Prompto's wet body like this. Prompto watches, breathing hard, as further evidence of his own enjoyment washes down the drain, some time later.  
  
He wishes it were so easy, to wash Ardyn from his mind, from beneath his skin, where he seems to have buried himself.  
  
Much like he buries himself within Prompto's body again, later, when they're dry and have moved on elsewhere.  
  
“See,” Ardyn says, breathless himself now, after everything, as he presses against Prompto. “Haven't you seen now that I'm right? That I'm the best for you.” He leans in then, presses a deep, bruising kiss to Prompto's lips, until they're both breathless and gasping. “No one can make you feel as I do.”  
  
To his anger and his shame, Prompto knows that Ardyn is right. No one makes him feel like this.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I write and listen to moody 80s music at the same time. Oops.


End file.
